


Great Rider

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [40]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, DWMP verse, Exhibitionism, M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycle unsafety, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but i painted myself into a corner by naming his dog that 200k words ago, listen the bike would be called Nahar, so everyone be cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Oromë has a motorcycle called the Valaroma and Celegorm finds a new kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Rider

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. A/N: I don’t know anything about motorcycles. Don't do this on a motorcycle.  
> 1\. Read on for the fic I have described as ‘so obviously me that if it was found anon on the moon, Buzz Aldrin would pick it up and go ‘LiveOak, you sweaty motherfucker.’’

 The Valaroma purred.

The Valaroma gleamed.

Celegorm stood on the sidewalk and stared transfixed at the sleek and shining breadth of the motorcycle on the street in front of Oromë’s house. Then his eyes wandered over the figure straddling it, and as Oromë reached back for a helmet, Celegorm’s mouth dried up altogether.

“Are your feet stuck?” Oromë glanced over at him, a knowing smile on his lips as he adjusted the straps of the helmet. “Or are you going to come over here?”

“You’re wearing _leather_ ,” croaked Celegorm.

“Better than a skin graft.”

“You’re wearing _boots_.”

“I wouldn’t want to sprain a toe. Are you coming or not?” Oromë waited, and when Celegorm didn’t respond, he turned off the ignition. “If the bike is intimidating, you could always just ride in the sidecar like Nahar does.” His voice held a teasing note, and Celegorm pulled himself together, affronted.

“Fuck that.” He strode over to the bike, running his fingers briefly over the letters of _Valaroma_ engraved on the side, and then swung a leg over the seat behind Oromë. “I just wasn’t quite prepared for you to look quite this hot, okay? Give a guy a second to adjust.”

Oromë grinned as Celegorm settled against his back, warm and close. “I know it’s a change to think of me as attractive – ”

“Oh shut _up_ , you know that’s not what I meant.”

“ – but if your brain’s caught up to wherever your blood went, then we can hit the road.” Oromë pointed with a thumb. “There’s a spare helmet behind you.”

Celegorm ran a hand through his hair, his other hand resting on Oromë’s hip. “I’m fine without.”

“How many times do I have to give you speeches about using protection? Put the goddamned helmet on, Tyelkormo.”

“Gawd, protection, precaution, enough already.” Celegorm made a face but acquiesced. “Like you didn’t have the best orgasm of your life the first time we fucked without a condom.”

Oromë busied himself with the bike’s kickstand. “Regardless of how true that is…”

“Oh, we know it’s true. Remember? You had me on all fours and after you came you wouldn’t pull outta me, you just hauled me back into your lap and you kept saying that nothing had ever felt that good, that I was the best you’d ever – ”

Oromë coughed loudly. “ _Regardless_ of decisions we made after two years of sleeping together _,_ fluid bonding your skull and the road is one relationship step I’m not prepared to take.” He put on his own helmet and reached back to slide a hand up Celegorm’s thigh, giving it a squeeze before he turned on the ignition again. “Are you ready?”

Celegorm settled his arms around Oromë, holding lower on his hips than was strictly necessary. “Yeah.”

The Valaroma purred.

The Valaroma roared.

Celegorm gave a delighted shudder all the way down to the bottoms of his feet and dug his fingers into the firm muscle of Oromë’s waist. “ _Fuck_ yeah, I’m ready _.”_

* * *

 

Oromë took them out along the open, winding country roads that meandered through expanses of farmland and pasture. The rumble of the engine and the warmth of Oromë’s back against his chest made Celegorm euphoric, and he slid further forward, running his hands under Oromë’s jacket so he could feel the contours of his stomach and chest through his light tee-shirt.

Oromë said something; Celegorm could feel the vibrations of his voice resonating through his chest, but the words were lost in the rush of wind and the roar of the engine.

“What?”

Oromë’s deep voice came to him faintly through the noise, half of the words inaudible. “Keep your … if you … to concentrate.”

“Didn’t catch that, sorry.” Celegorm pressed closer still, leaning his helmeted head between Oromë’s shoulder blades and letting his hands drift lower on Oromë’s stomach, towards the waist of his jeans.

This time he could tell that the word Oromë growled was “ _Tyelkormo,_ ” and though he couldn’t make out the tone, it was familiar enough that Celegorm could guess at it. He chuckled and laid his lips to Oromë’s black-jacketed shoulder.

“Can’t hear you, Coach,” he murmured, letting his own voice reverberate against Oromë’s back. He kept one arm wrapped around Oromë’s waist and brought his other hand up to press flat against the warm leather of Oromë’s jacket between his shoulder blades. “You’re going to have to repeat yourself.”

Oromë shook his head, his hair sliding across his shoulders and tickling Celegorm’s nose, and Celegorm twitched at it lightly, his other hand still tucked under Oromë’s jacket.

“What will you do if you can’t use your voice on me?” He grinned to himself and let both hands slip under the jacket again, where he linked his fingers together and pulled himself snugly against Oromë. The vibrations of the engine between his legs were already helping encourage the arousal that had first begun with the sight of Oromë in leather and denim, and he shifted his hips, feeling the beginnings of his erection pressing against the crotch of his pants. He flexed his fingers, feeling the swell and ripple of muscle beneath them, and slid them down towards Oromë’s waistband once more. He could feel the deep breath Oromë took, and he laughed against the warm leather as he lingered at Oromë’s belt for a moment before untucking his shirt and laying his hands against Oromë’s bare skin.

It was Oromë’s turn to shudder, but Celegorm could see that his hands were perfectly steady on the handles bars, not moving against the throttle even as Celegorm caressed Oromë’s stomach.

“How good is your control?” he murmured, stretching up so his mouth was set against Oromë’s neck, just over the collar of his jacket.

Oromë’s thumb twitched on the handlebar, and he turned his head just enough so that Celegorm could see his lips. “God knows you give my control a workout.”

“Uh huh.” Celegorm hooked his fingers under Oromë’s waistband and tipped his hips forward again, rubbing himself against the stiff fabric of his jeans. He was definitely hard now, and Oromë would almost certainly be able to feel it. “I trust you.” Celegorm hummed the words against Oromë’s shoulder, not even sure if Oromë could hear him but not actually caring. “You’ll keep us safe even if I’m being… reckless.” One of his hands still playing just under Oromë’s waistband, Celegorm slid the other over the front of his jeans and palmed the growing bulge below Oromë’s belt. Celegorm could see Oromë’s throat move as he swallowed convulsively, but still the bike neither sped up nor slowed down, tracing the curves of the road with utter smoothness. “Your control is _almost_ as legendary as my powers of persuasion, so we’re gonna have us a standoff. Again. Wanna see which wins out?”

Oromë wet his lips, and this time the words Celegorm felt rumble through him were, “Dangerous game.”

“I know.” Celegorm shivered joyfully, adrenalin and arousal pounding through him. He widened his stance slightly, spreading his thighs further apart around Oromë’s hips, and let the vibrations travel up through the base of his pelvis. He rocked into them slightly, pretending for a moment he was back in their bed, straddling Oromë as he so often did, rolling easily into his thrusts. He could already feel drops of precum staining his shorts, and he imagined coming like that, having no choice but to endure the rest of the ride soaked in his own seed. It did nothing to diminish his arousal. “Nhh.” He breathed out against Oromë’s neck, and this time Oromë moved, shifting forward to press into Celegorm’s palm. Celegorm tightened his grip, rubbing his hand roughly over Oromë’s erection.

A new sound came up; a car, following the curve of the road in the opposite direction. Oromë kept them at a steady speed though he twitched a little under Celegorm’s touch, shifting slightly in the seat. But Celegorm didn’t move his hands, one hidden under Oromë’s clothes, the other cupping his crotch, even as the car passed.

“God,” groaned Oromë, and Celegorm pressed into the sound of his voice. “God, Tyelko, you are – ”

“A shameless, deviant, slut-ass exhibitionist?” Celegorm suggested, grinning. “Yeah, baby, I know. You fuckin’ love it.” He could feel the powerful muscles of Oromë’s thighs tightening as he massaged him through his pants, one hand now planted on Oromë’s leg as the other worked steadily at his groin. “Wanna see if we can make you come like this?”

“You can, I have absolutely no doubt.” Celegorm could tell that the words were being gritted out between clenched teeth, and that Oromë’s breathing had sped up. He could see beads of sweat on Oromë’s skin now, and it was only the clumsiness of his helmet that kept him from leaning forward to taste them.

Oromë let out what was unmistakably a curse, and abruptly pulled the motorcycle to the side of the road.

“Whoa, did you come alread – ”

But Oromë was switching off the engine and swinging himself off the bike, pulling out of Celegorm’s grasp. Taken by surprise, Celegorm slipped forward, off balance and catching himself on the seat, and then Oromë was lifting him up in one powerful arm, using the other to jerk down his pants.

“Holy fuck,” Celegorm managed. “We’re right out on the road, Oromë.”

“I thought you were a shameless, deviant, slut-ass exhibitionist,” breathed Oromë, yanking off his helmet and dropping it to the ground. “Do you talk bigger game than you’re actually prepared to play?” He leaned down and kissed Celegorm fiercely, pulling off Celegorm’s helmet as he did, and then flipped him around. “Bend over.”

Shaking with excitement, Celegorm braced himself over the bike, his jeans pulled down just enough to expose his ass. His bare cock pressed against the warm leather of the seat, getting it slick with precum. He heard a spitting noise and felt something wet between his buttocks. He groaned aloud, painfully aroused at the crudeness of the preparation, all the more so for how rare it was for Oromë to be impatient and rough. “ _Jesus_.”

“This is going to have to be quick,” murmured Oromë. “Another car could pass us at any time. Are you going to be okay if I don’t prepare you?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ wreck me, Coach.”

There was the sound of a zipper, and then Oromë’s cockhead was at Celegorm’s entrance, and he closed his eyes and whispered every curse he knew as Oromë slowly pushed into him.

Oromë usually took his time with Celegorm; he usually liked to fuck him slow and sweet even when Celegorm squirmed with impatience and begged him for more. But now Oromë was not taking his time; now Oromë was _brutal._

Celegorm struggled to brace himself, fingers scrabbling at leather and chrome, and tried to figure out where all his air had gone. “Jesus, Oromë, holy fuck, holy – ”

“Too much?” Oromë didn’t slow down, his hands pressing Celegorm down, bending him further over the saddle of the bike.

Celegorm shook his head frantically. “Keep g-going – _Jesus_.”

There was a faint sound in the distance, barely registering in Celegorm’s ears as pleasure rampaged through him and he groped for a handhold. But then the sound grew louder, and Celegorm realized what it was. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Oromë, there’s a car.”

“You’d better hurry up and come then, hadn’t you?”

“ _Shit._ ” Nervousness and excitement surged through him in equal measure, and Celegorm tried to push himself up far enough to get a hand around his cock. But Oromë had him pressed down too firmly, and Celegorm cursed. “Damnit, I can’t – ”

“I know you don’t need a hand on your cock to come.”

“Oromë! You fucking sadist, there’s a car – There’s someone c-coming – ” Celegorm broke off midsentence, letting out a hoarse cry as Oromë adjusted his angle minutely and thrust deep.

“You like to talk big game, but you can’t perform when the cards are down?” Oromë’s voice was soft and teasing, and his gentle mockery went straight to the base of Celegorm’s spine.

“ _Fuck_.”

“They’re getting closer,” Oromë observed, and only the bruises his fingers were drawing against Celegorm’s hips betrayed his own urgency. “Are you going to give them a show?”

Celegorm whined and pushed his hips back, begging wordlessly. Oromë bit the back of his neck, and Celegorm let out a wild, desperate moan. “Oh god, oh god, I’m coming, I’m com – ” His cock pulsed against the saddle of the motorcycle, painting it with come just as the oncoming car crested a hill. Panting, spots swimming before his eyes, Celegorm struggled to push himself upright. But Oromë was still within him, still hard, still moving.

“Oromë!” hissed Celegorm. “Hurry up!”

“Always so hasty,” whispered Oromë into his ear, and then pressed him down, his chest against Celegorm’s back, covering him completely, shielding him as the car roared past. As it did, Celegorm felt Oromë throb inside him.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, when he could speak again.

Oromë pulled back and Celegorm pushed himself up shakily, feeling Oromë’s come drip out of him. Oromë tucked himself back into his pants, then looked at Celegorm and gave him a slow smile. Then his eyes flicked down. “Need some help there?”

When Celegorm still didn’t move, Oromë reached out and slid Celegorm’s jeans back over his hips, carefully doing up his fly. Then he ran a hand through Celegorm’s sweat-soaked hair and kissed him lightly on the lips. “You okay?”

“ _No_. Give me a second to adjust to the fucking glorious madman you just became.”

Oromë grinned at him. “So you like the bike?”

Celegorm made an incredulous noise and pointed at the come still staining the seat.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Ready to keep going?”

“Boss,” said Celegorm, “With all due credit to you and your skills, I’m gonna need a moment before I can straddle anything.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 2\. Did you honestly think I could resist naming it this  
> 3\. _Thus it was that when Nahar neighed and Orome indeed came among them, some of the Quendi hid themselves, and some fled and were lost. But those that had the courage to stay perceived swiftly that the **Great Rider** was noble and fair and no shape out of Darkness…_


End file.
